Emerald Prince (49 page)

She started to speak, but Turrean’s low growl froze the words on her lips. It also froze the man who rose and stood over her.

“I mean you no harm,” he muttered, taking a slow step back from her.

Alianor scrambled to her feet, clutching her cloak to her throat. “What do you want?” What a silly question, Nora, she thought. He’s going to kill you, and for what? Most likely to steal an obstinate donkey named for the King.

Beside her mistress, Turrean remained poised to strike, her teeth bared, her growling ominous.

“Please call off your dog. I’d no’ like t’ hurt your animal, especially for protectin’ its master.”

Alianor didn’t want the dog hurt, either. “Sit, Turrean.” She waited for the wolfhound to obey, and repeated to the man, “I
asked
what you want.”

“We’ve need of a priest,” he mumbled.

Alianor sensed there was something wrong. She also heard it in his voice. Studying her assailant by moonlight, she tried to make out his features. She wasn’t able to see much of him, except for the oversized battle ax he had picked up when he stood. He held it in his huge hands — hands that could easily crush a man’s skull. He moved, and with a sinking heart, she saw the broad spanse of the man wielding the weapon. His arms were the size of most men’s legs, his chest bulging with muscles that almost burst from his tunic. She gulped down fear.

“A-a priest?” she stammered, having forgotten her current garb. She sensed he stared back, yet the semi-darkness made her uncertain of it. For a minute, silence reigned. Alianor grew more uneasy as each second passed.

“You’re no’ a monk,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“What?” Alianor’s panic prompted her to argue. She needed him to believe she was a monk. If he didn’t, what might he do? She tried to speak as gruffly as she could. “Just because I’m young …”

The burly man’s feet shuffled in the grass, as if he was embarrassed. “I’ve some notion wot a woman feels like. The robes canno’ hide that fact.”

Alianor was thankful for the night as the heat of her blush rushed up her neck, scalding her cheeks. Now what?

“So I’m not a monk. What do you want from me?”

It was a dangerous question: it might put thoughts into his head. Yet Alianor needed to know where she stood with this stranger who had accosted her in her sleep.

He hesitated. “My friend is dyin’.”

Alianor thought she heard his voice crack with emotion. “I am sorry.”

“Could you,” he seemed uncertain, pausing before posing the question to her, “could you give him the sacraments anyway? He’d no’ know the difference.”

“As you pointed out, I am not a monk. I cannot do what you ask.”

“In his condition he’d no’ know you’re a woman, and I’ll no’ tell him. Please milady, can you no’ give him some small comfort a’fore he dies?”

Moonlight flooded his face, and Alianor saw the sincere expression on the big man’s face. He obviously cared about his friend. So much he asked her to console a dying man. His humble loyalty made Alianor trust him. “Yes,” she conceded. “I’ll help.”

He seemed surprised by her agreement. “You’re no’ afraid? Impersonatin’ a holy man is ’gainst the law.”

Alianor almost laughed. Impersonating a monk could not make her situation any worse. “Already trying to talk me out of it, are you? No, I’m not afraid now. Though in truth, you almost frightened me to death at first, Mister …?”

“I beg your pardon, milady,” he mumbled, and she sensed his blush this time. “And me name’s Seth. Just Seth.”

Seth scuffed his boot against the ground, reminding Alianor of a little boy caught pinching tarts; a stark contrast to the brute of a man he must be. “No harm done, Seth,” she said, unable to stop a smile from touching her lips. “But you’d best not call me milady again.”

Alianor picked up her meager belongings, stuffed them into the saddlebags and flung them over the donkey tied a few feet away. She started to mount when the bear of a man gently lifted her onto John’s bony back, his muscular frame making the task easy, as if she were a bag of goose down feathers and not a grown woman. Turrean pushed her way in between them, forcing him to step back again.

“Thank you,” she said, having lost all fear of Seth. Her instincts told her she could trust him, and she decided not to question the odd circumstances of their meeting. “This is Turrean.”

Seth offered a meaty hand to Turrean to sniff. When the dog seemed satisfied he was no longer a threat, he patted Turrean on her large head. A smile split his face and, again, Alianor was moved by his gentle nature, a contradiction to his massive frame.

Taking the donkey’s reins into his ham-fisted hand, Seth led them out of the trees. Once out on the road, his stride quickened. It surprised Alianor he was afoot, but he moved at a pace poor John could hardly keep up with.

Within a half-hour, they entered a camp in the wood, a fire welcoming them with its light. Five scraggly men watched them approach. When John stopped, Alianor slid off the donkey by herself. It would not do to have Seth help her down when she was supposedly a man. Drawing the cowl of her robe close about her face, she moved to stand beside him. His bear-like strength was her only protection.

Her gaze moved from one man to another, and each studied her back, their eyes cautious. She wondered if these were the thieves she had dreaded meeting on the road and could not still the tremor snaking up her spine. Alianor saw the man in need of sacraments, lying beside the fire on a tattered blanket. He groaned and clutched his belly. The amount of blood soaking his tunic made it obvious his wound was fatal, had not his pale, drawn face already told her death was close at hand.

She knelt beside him, and placed her hand upon his. The warm stickiness of blood nearly made her pull away, but she willed herself calm. Remembering the words her brother had spoken many times was easy; keeping the tremor from her voice more difficult. She lowered her voice, and the huskiness served well in camouflaging the fact she spoke in alto rather than bass tones.

The man’s eyes fluttered open and peace filled them as he heard and understood the sacraments given. When she finished, he nodded, closed his eyes and died.

Everyone had gathered close, too close, and the firelight revealed the dangerous situation to Alianor. These men were thieves, perhaps mercenaries, even murderers; depraved men who preyed upon innocent travelers. Hardened eyes did not move from her when she stood. One pair in particular focused on her, and Alianor feared the faint definition beneath her robes had betrayed her.

Suddenly, the man to her left let out a howl and grabbed her robe by the neck, pulling her close to him. Foul breath assaulted her along with his words.

“God’s codpiece,” he bellowed, his eyes scrunching up in his dirty face as he jerked the hood back from her head. “I thought your hands were a might dainty for a monk’s, dearie.” He sniggered to his companions. “Look lads, a wench gave ol’ Danny his last rites.”

Seth stepped in and shoved the laughing man aside, his face twisted into an angry mask. His size, his manner, his meanness, brooked no argument from any of the men. Sensing the danger Turrean, too, moved to protect her mistress, touching Alianor’s knees as she crowded close.

“Does no’ matter much who mumbled the words over poor Danny, Bow. You saw the peace it gave him in his last minute of life. On pain of death, I’ll send every damme one of you t’ hell if’n you harm a hair on her head.”

Bow licked his lips as he studied Alianor with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. “I’ll not harm her, Seth. Want a wee taste o’ her, is all. Looks mighty fine t’ me, even in them holy rags.”

Seth scowled. “Get your filthy mind out of the gutter, Bow. If you’re so desperate for a fuck, there’s a donkey you can have.”

Alianor winced at Seth’s crude words, but Bow’s low snarl caused her breath to catch in her throat. Fear rushed over her again as she considered her options. What if they rose up against him? Despite his size, Seth couldn’t possibly fight them all. She would be at their mercy, or rather, lack of it.

“One o’ these days, you’ll be needing sacraments yourself, Seth,” Bow growled. He obviously resented Seth’s authority. Alianor sensed only the bigger man’s brute strength kept Bow at bay.

“Aye. ’Til then, I’ll say what you can and canno’ do. Understood?”

Seth’s gaze moved from one to the other, until each man nodded. Satisfied, he motioned for Alianor to sit by the fire. She sat, not wishing to annoy Seth, her sole protector.

“If,” the youngest man there said, “I m-m-might be askin’, m-m-miss. Wot, w-wot you doin’ a-alone an’ dressed like a m-m-monk?”

Another nudged him, as if he’d said something bad. “Hush, Willie.”

Alianor smiled at the stuttering lad. “It’s all right, and a fair question. A priest thought it would be safer, since I was traveling alone, to disguise myself as a man and a monk.”

“Now, why would an English colleen be travelin’ all alone in Ireland?” Seth’s question drew her gaze to him. She wondered what she should say.

“I’m afraid I cannot explain,” she replied. The risk in telling the truth was greater than the danger in angering these cutthroats. Alianor felt like she walked a line so fine, she could not possibly win either way. “Trust me, it’s urgent enough I will do what I must.”

A mumble went up among them. Seth spoke again. “You’re the one the King’s men are lookin’ for, aren’t you?”

Her protector watched her reaction and Alianor could not avoid his scrutiny. Seth had stood up against his own men to keep her safe, but could she trust him with the truth?

She decided she could. “Yes.”

“Why, she’s the cause o’ Danny’s dying,” Bow shouted, his former grumbling a cry of outrage as he jumped to his feet. “We ran into the King’s guard and they were looking for her. So she as good as killed Danny herself.”

Seth leaped up and grabbed Bow by the scruff of the neck, jerking him off his feet. Bow gagged, dangling helplessly in his grip. Seth said to him, “We’re murderin’ thieves and we takes our chances with the law. In the end, does no’ matter why the soldiers were out and ’bout. We determined our fate long ago when we took up our lawless ways and we’ve only ourselves t’ blame when we die.” He directed his next words to all his men.

“If’n your wantin’ t’ lay blame, blame King John. If it weren’t for him takin’ and givin’ our lands t’ bloody foreigners, and taxes bleedin’ honest men dry, we wouldn’t be driven t’ desperate ways.” He paused and looked straight into Alianor’s wide eyes. “I say if the colleen here has done somethin’ so foul the King’s got his entire guard out lookin’ for her, we should give her a hail and hurrah, and see she gets t’ where she’s goin’. Damme the King an’ his fuckin’ taxes.”

Seth gave a satisfied grunt and the other men nodded, all except Bow. He still dangled in Seth’s grip.

“Put me down, you bloody ox,” Bow choked out.

Seth did, letting go so fast Bow fell to the ground in a heap. The smaller man scrambled to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger. But he didn’t say anything more. He kept his tongue, realizing everyone was on Seth’s side.

Relief swarmed over Alianor. Suddenly, she was exhausted. Looking around the camp, she matter-of-factly asked, “Where can I sleep, Seth?”

Chapter Thirty-three

“A
LIANOR.”

L
IAM ROUSED FROM
his stupor, a night terror touching him with its intensity. Misery. The taste of it was sour in his mouth. He swore he could hear a woman crying. His heart stampeded inside his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Alianor was in danger. He knew it, instinctively, and drew a ragged gulp of foul air hanging like a cloud in the dungeon; the stench of death, misery and human waste. He slumped against a wall in anguish, unable to help her.

“Alianor,” he whispered, her name lingering on his lips, though reality told him she could not hear. In the quiet darkness of his cell, dire helplessness overwhelmed him. The other prisoners slept, and only the occasional scurrying and squeaking of the rats disturbed the silence surrounding him. He had imagined the sobbing.

It must be night, he surmised. At night the groans of other tormented men around him died away and a mind-numbing silence crept in like a bandit, waiting for the light of day so the torture might begin again.

Reality did not lessen the fear haunting him, much like the nightmare he could not recall but sensed was real. Alianor was in danger and he could do nothing to help her. Liam pulled at the manacles binding him like an animal to the damp bowels of the castle. It was futile. The clink of the chains was loud in the small chamber, mocking him, denying him his freedom.

“God help her,” he whispered in agony, the sound echoing off the stone walls, “for I cannot.”

A
LIANOR WOKE FROM HER
exhausted sleep. Disoriented, it took her a moment to remember where she was.

Bow knelt beside her, his hand still upon her shoulder where he shook her to wake her up. He placed a finger to his lips to still her startled response. He leaned a little closer. Alianor flinched as his foul breath blasted her. She was about to call out for Seth when he whispered urgently, “Your dog is hurt.”